


It Seems a Little Cliché

by Falafel_Waffel



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falafel_Waffel/pseuds/Falafel_Waffel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Two pink lines, one demonic little equals sign. It’s a simple equation. Prom night plus alcohol times years of sexual tension subtract the clothes equals two pink lines."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Seems a Little Cliché

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misshoneywell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshoneywell/gifts).



> So I wrote this originally for Misshoneywell for the holiday fic exchange but a lot of things happened and I pulled my fic out to keep control of it. 
> 
> Misshoneywell pmed me on Tumblr saying she was pretty sure I wrote this which was the last thing I needed before deleting this from the collection and moving it into the general population.
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for betaing this even though it's longer than it should be. I started having too much fun.

Two pink lines, one demonic little equals sign. It’s a simple equation. Prom night plus alcohol times years of sexual tension subtract the clothes equals two pink lines.

It all started with a text message. A simple 27-character text message I still refuse to delete.

He sent it during our fourth period English class.  _Want to go to prom with me?_

I look up from my cell phone tucked into my copy of  _Macbeth_. Peeta and I are already going to prom, though we’re the only singles in our group of friends. We’re used to being the two extra wheels. Standing back and watching our friends make asses of themselves in their relationships is what we’ve always done.

“So…” he starts when the bell rings, “Want to?”

I shove my books in my backpack. “Don’t you want to go with some sexually viable candidate?” I’ve never had good experiences with men in my life. My mother got pregnant with me after her senior prom. Dad married her, but walked out after Prim turned four. It was enough to make me be wary. This fear has led to me only having one sloppy, drunken kiss from Mr. Peeta Mellark this summer.

I straddled his lap and ignored the awkward erection that pressed against my wet bathing suit, and he didn’t try to touch me anywhere other than my lower back. I remember falling off of him and waking up covered in a pool towel on the chaise lounge outside Madge Undersee’s house.

Peeta just grins and slings my backpack over his shoulder. I’m still recovering from a broken collarbone and that geometry book is awfully heavy. “So…?”

“Why me? Victoria has the hots for you,” I point out and he shrugs, “As well as the  _entire_  varsity cheerleading team. Go take one of the pretty blondes. I’m just the little, average quarter Puerto Rican with no tits.”

“Katniss, you’re my best friend. If there’s anyone I want to spend an awkward night with in an uncomfortable tux, it’s you. Not Victoria, not the cheerleading team, you and only you. Would it really, honestly be  _that bad?”_

I sigh. “Well, if there’s anyone I want to spend a night with in an uncomfortable, overpriced dress, it’s definitely you.”

We have a month until prom, which is the first Friday in April. Honestly, that month went by faster than I would have liked.

Before I know it, I’m sitting in the rickety vanity chair in Madge’s bedroom. One of the legs is bent from one of her many trysts with my cousin, Gale. He’s studying at Temple but is coming up from Philadelphia to take Madge to her senior prom. Annie comes running through the door. “See! I told you I had it!” she exclaims and flops on the bed, careful to not disturb our dresses or Delly’s nap. “It’ll go great with your dress, Katniss!” Madge slides the curling iron out of my hair, finishing up the head full of loose curls kept from my face by two braids that are held together by a single rhinestone clip.

Annie tosses me the lipstick she had to run home for, a beautiful shade of coral that would only make my lips look pinker. “How do I look?” I ask, standing up.

“Great!” Delly yawns, “Now they barely let Enobaria and Johanna go together. Are you really going to push your luck by going in your underwear?”

I look down at my white strapless bra and thong. I had a robe on earlier, but someone managed to spill foundation on it.

I had to borrow a dress, as my mother’s measly paycheck combined with my night jobs had to go towards the bills. It’s a one shoulder bodice with rhinestones covering it. The top is uncomfortable, rubbing against my arm painfully when I keep my arms in close. The skirt is pale orange, almost peach, with a slit halfway up my thigh.

The only thing I had to buy were the nude heels that pinch my toes and leave me wobbly, though the bottle of vodka we’re sha ring might also have something to do with that.

We go through all of the normal prom rituals. Peeta slides the corsage on my wrist, and I pin on his boutonniere, both of them orange calla lilies. “You’re stunning as always,” he tells me as our mothers take pictures of us. They even get one of me whacking his arm with the back of my hand.

“And you look like a six foot penguin!” I joke, and he kisses my temple. I can’t even hide my blush.

On our way out, my mother stops me. “Katniss, make good decisions.” She’s talking about our personal after party and post-prom weekend at the shore. Of all the things my mother could wish for me, the most painful is her wish that I not end up like her, thirty-six and working nights at a hospital almost seven days a week with an eighteen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old.

“I promise,” I hug her tightly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

My mother smiles sadly. “Some days, I wish he could see how you two are growing up.”

“I don’t,” I snort, “Dad’s a deadbeat ass with a pretty little replacement family out west. He can kindly stay the fuck out of my life, along with yours and Prim’s. We don’t need him, plus you’re getting married to Geoffrey in July.” He’s a doctor and easily got Prim’s and my stamp of approval when they started dating six years ago. Geoffrey Wallace is already planning to adopt Prim the day after their wedding. Apparently I’m too old so it doesn’t really matter, though he would if he could.

Mom kisses my forehead. “Watch your language, and keep your cell phone charged!”

One of my favorite things about Peeta is his dancing skills; for a wrestling captain, he’s surprisingly light on his feet. “I’m getting dizzy!” I laugh as he spins me one more time, my pantyhose making my feet extra slippery. I just have to wait for the friction to wear a hole in the stretchy tan torture device. W hen I spin back in, Peeta holds me close; his one hand is right under my bust, the other spread out across my stomach. We stand there and sway together as Peeta’s deep hum echoes in my ear. Something comes alive inside me, an all-over warm tingling that I know I shouldn’t be feeling.

I shouldn’t want to rip my best friend’s clothes off. I scold myself inwardly and put some distance between us. “Careful, Mr. Mellark, someone might think we’re a thing.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute.

Then The Wop comes on louder than ever, and I think I hear him say, ‘Would it really be that bad?’ but Madge is pulling me away to dance. I don’t know who invented choreographed dances, but want to thank them for getting me out of such an awkward situation.

It doesn’t surprise anyone when Cato, the quarterback, and Clove, the captain of our Varsity cheerleading squad, are crowned Prom King and Queen. They would make a cute couple if he wasn’t suck a prick and she wasn’t the nastiest little gossip on campus. The next song they play is  _She Wolf_  by Shakira. Peeta grabs my wrists. “Miss me?” he asks, kissing my nose. His breath smells strongly of alcohol, probably just like mine. I managed to sneak in a water bottle full of vodka under Madge’s poofy dress. By now, it’s almost gone.

“Tons! If I have to see Cato and Clove stick their tongues down each other’s throats for one more second, I might hurl!”

“They really are disgusting, aren’t they?” He pulls me away from the crowd, his legs a little wobbly from the liquor.

“There’s a she-wolf in your closet,” he sings, “Open up and set her free…” I howl in response as he laces his fingers with mine, keeping our hands by our shoulders as we sway.

The only thing I can hear is Shakira. “But having a very good time and behave very bad in the arms of a boy,” I stop his singing by pressing my lips to his.

As it turns out, the two hours of dancing is just the foreplay. We won’t be heading to the shore tonight; instead, we’re spending the night at Gale’s parents’ house. His parents, my aunt and uncle, and his brothers and sister are in Florida, giving us an entire house. No one, not even me, thinks twice as Peeta pulls me to the guest room.

I take a long swig of our shared bottle of vodka. By this point, I barely notice the turpentine aroma of the liquid or the burn. I lock the door behind us and immediately attack. I’m not entirely sure what we’re doing, I just know that clothes block our end goal. “Are you sure?” he asks as my clumsy fingers unbutton is dress shirt, and I nod in response.

Peeta roughly grips my arm, his current state making him forget his own strength. He spins me around, looking for the zipper of my dress. “It’s under my-“ I stop as the dress falls off my body, “Oh…”

He hooks a finger in my torn pantyhose, pulling at the waist and snapping it back, “What the hell is this?”

“Hell is right!” I dig my finger into the tan netting and rip until I finally pull down the contraption. It’s not fair, here I am in a white bra and panties while he’s still in a t-shirt and dress pants. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I confess.

He pulls his t-shirt over his head and I lick my lips. Years of sports has given him a well-toned body with just enough fat to be perfect. I cross my arms over my chest as he takes off his pants. “Some nights, I dream about you and me like this…” I confess.

“Me, too…” he croons, a deep blush rising on his cheeks as he reaches out for me. I hurry into his arms; the closer I am, the less he can see. My leaning pushes Peeta off his feet and onto the bed, pulling me with him. “You’re so beautiful…” he whispers, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

“Shut up…” He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. I can alrea dy feel the light stubble along his jaw rubbing against my chin. His hardness pokes at my core, making me groan. Peeta slips his tongue in my mouth, rubbing it against my front teeth as his hands wander to my back, unhooking the strapless bra. It falls between us and he tugs it away. He wraps an arm around me and starts to roll, putting himself on top.

A small whine escapes me as Peeta sits up on his legs. He tugs down my underwear and my knee jerk reaction is to squeeze my legs closed, but they relax as soon as the spinning room catches my attention. I cover my eyes with my forearm trying to ignore the dizzy feeling that only gets worse when he dips a finger inside me. It’s such a foreign but welcome feeling, yet the second I feel something build, it goes away.

The bed shifts and I hear a rustling. “What are you doing?” I ask, still shielding my eyes.

“Condom,” he mumbles.

I expect him to come back and keep me warm, but a dizzy eternity passes by and he’s still gone. “Just get on with it!” I snap.

It stings when he first enters me, but he holds still and comes forward to kiss away my tears. I bring my hands up and latch onto him as if he’s going to float away. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time,” he groans in my ear.

I don’t say anything; it’s like being split in two, but he’s as gentle as possible. Peeta moves slowly in and out of me, slipping a little on my sweaty skin. Every so often he falls out and I’m glad, as it’s a welcome break from the pain. I don’t understand why people make such a big deal out of this. It’s clumsy and painful, but his warm kisses on my cheeks and neck make it worth it. Maybe it’s unavoidable that the first time is horrible, but he tries so hard to make it good for me.

I like our sweaty embrace afterwards, the tired affectionate kisses placed everywhere our lips can reach as the pain subsides. Neither of us says anything, the gravity of the situation hanging in the air.

Peeta and I met on the first day of kindergarten and have been inseparable ever since. I guess I started noticing Peeta when we were fourteen, right around the time I got my first period and he lost the awkward baby fat and developed broad, thick muscles. All the girls noticed him, but I’ve been the only constant in his life.

The next morning is a mess of awkward wake-ups and one hell of a hangover. I spend as much time away from my best friend as possible.

Everyone complains about how cold it is at the shore, but it makes for prime shell hunting. “Katniss…”

I continue to brush away wet sand. I’m achy between my legs, and when I think about last night, I can feel Peeta inside me and the memory of the warm feeling inside me. “What, Peeta?” I snap.

“I’m sorry… we were both drunk. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he stammers, his eyes rimmed in red as i f he’s been crying.

“I don’t regret it,” I answer honestly, “But if you do, maybe we should just forget it happened. I mean, everyone has sex on prom night.”

He looks almost offended and I continue walking. He doesn’t say a word. Maybe he’s trying to plan his words accordingly, or string together the perfect sentence like he always does. Instead, he watches a wave crash over my feet. The icy cold water fills my sneakers. “Dammit!” I hiss as something bright catches my eye. I reach into the foamy water and pull out a bright pink shell. It’s a rarity at the Jersey Shore where the sand is usually littered with large, plain, white clam shells. “Here,” I say, handing Peeta the shell while avoiding his eyes, “Orange to coral. Like me last night.” I regret connecting the beautiful shell with prom night, but Peeta’s hand closes around our newly found treasure.

It takes Peeta and I close to three weeks to find our rhythm again, but soon enough we’re back to being the same best friends we’ve always been. My birthday comes and goes, the big one-eight. I barely remember past nine o’clock. I’m the last one to turn eighteen and we spend it camping in the woods where our drinking can go unnoticed. Peeta and I wake up pressed together in our own sleeping bags, still thankfully clothed. Over the next week or so, as the prom posters come down at school, it becomes easier and easier to forget what happened on prom night.

I’m miserable in school the next day and run out of my biology dissection to throw up in the girls’ bathroom. I force a dry salad into myself at lunch and surprisingly, it stays down. “Katniss, can I borrow a tampon?” Madge whispers in my ear.

Madge and I share everything from our secrets to our periods. I always start two days before her. “It’s my last day and I forgot…” she whispers.

I’m almost two months late. I feel myself chill from the inside out, and my eyes find Peeta's.  _No, it’s impossible, we used a condom…_  I tell myself.

Still, I head to CVS right after school. All I could think about after lunch was my late period, my nausea, and the sex Peeta and I had almost a month ago. It’s two days until my birthday and I’m tearing into a pregnancy test in a public bathroom. After a minute or so, one bold pink line shows up in the white results area.

 _Not Pregnant_ , the key says. I’m filled with a short-lived relief which morphs into a cold clammy feeling as the second pink line forms.

I shake both my head and the stick, hoping maybe that will make it go away. I don’t just take one test; I stop by six pharmacies, buying tests and putting the positive ones into the Ziploc my grapes from lunch were in.

I finally stumble home just as it starts to rain. My mother’s already gone for work and Prim is watching TV. “You’re late,” she sings.

I say nothing and run upstairs to puke. I grip my abdomen tightly, just hoping that maybe I can vomit this accident out. It’s physically impossible, but I could hope.

I sit on the bathroom floor, rocking myself back and forth.  _Peeta, I have to tell Peeta…_ he’s the calm collected one. He’s the one who always knows what to do, the one who can calm me down no matter what. He’ll know what to do.

“Where are you going?” Prim whines as I pull on my rain boots. Peeta’s house is barely a half mile from here and it isn’t raining that much.

“Going to the Mellarks. Don’t do anything stupid…”  _Because Lord knows there’s enough stupid in this house already!_ I sling my pregnancy test filled backpack over my shoulder and head out.

I kick at everything I can on the way to Peeta’s. Rocks, trash cans, even old Abernathy’s fence.  _I’m a straight A student, I’m going to Temple in August. I can’t have a baby, no, I can’t!_

 _Why am I even telling Peeta? I should just go to Planned Parenthood and nip it in the bud._ But it’s late, plus it’s Friday so I doubt anyone wants to stick around to perform a hasty abortion.

I enter Peeta’s house through the back door, but not before tucking my baggie of tests in my coat pocket. Hopefully, I can play this meeting casually.  _Hey, can you help me with the English homework on this miserable Friday night? And by the way, I’m pregnant._ Perfect plan.

“Oh, Katniss…” Mrs. Mellark is her usual disappointed self when I come through the door. It’s no secret that the woman openly hates me. “I didn’t think we would be seeing much of you this weekend.”

“I just thought I’d stop by and surprise Peeta.”

Their eight year old Chocolate Lab, Macaroon, or Mac for short, finds a hidden burst of energy and charges me as I take off one of my Wellies. Mac knocks me on my ass at Mrs. Mellark’s feet and I hear something hit the hardwood. I assume it’s my cell phone, but her cobra-like hands snatch up the item.

My Ziploc bag of pregnancy tests.

Her face turns to stone very fast as she hauls me to my feet. Her mind is probably forming its own conclusions about how I tricked Peeta into having sex with me, or any number of horrible false situations. “Let me go!” I shout. Her grip only tightens on my arm as she drags me into the living room where Thomas Mellark is watching the nightly news.

“We have a problem,” she snaps, shoving me away. Mr. Mellark has always been a kind man, treating me like a daughter since day one. “This,” she holds out the bag, “Is a bag of positive pregnancy tests.” She grabs me again, shaking me a little. “They fell out of  _her_  jacket on her way to see  _our_  son.”

“Katniss…” Mr. Mellark starts.

My anger swells as her grip tightens on me. “Please let me go…” I plead.

“What are you going to do about this?” she shakes me and I stumble.

“Lisa!” Thomas shouts.

“Peeta’s a good boy! He’s going away to college! You’re not trapping him, taking his money or using him to get welfare, you little slut,” she tells me just before slapping me.

“I don’t want this!” I scream, “I never wanted this! I just want to go to college! Live my life!” I sob. The door swings open and my eyes meet Peeta’s.

We stare each other down for a fraction of a second before I bolt. I don’t even put on my coat or my shoes, and leave the pregnancy tests behind. I just run to the one place I know feels safe, the forest.

An all-consuming grief takes over and I let myself stumble to the ground, my sobs shaking me to the core. “Katniss!” I hear Peeta shout.  _Fuck, God dammit! Go away, go home. Just let me rot!_

I don’t get up, though, letting the steady rain thoroughly soak me. The light of a flashlight stings my eyes. “Oh God, Katniss,” he murmurs. I squeeze my eyes shut as the sobs come back; the scared, concerned look on his face is enough to break me apart.

I couldn’t do this to Peeta, I have to get rid of it. I have to get rid of our little ‘blessing’.

Peeta scoops me up in his arms and carries me out of the woods. I barely made it twenty yards in. He places me in his car before heading inside to grab my backpack, his bag and my shoes while I blubber away in the passenger seat. Mrs. Mellark yells after him as he gets in the car. When he opens the door, I hear her scream ‘white trash’.

“Katniss…” I look away, “Katniss, look at me!” I jump when he yells, since it rarely happens. “You’re pregnant?”

I nod slowly and he backs out of the driveway.

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” he says as he pulls onto my street. I swing the back of my hand and hit him square in the chest, but not hard. If anything it’s playful yet totally inappropriate give n our situation. I’ve only had sex once.  _What are the odds of getting pregnant your first time?_

The shock and horror hit me all at once. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do or where to go,” I start, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I can’t do this, Peeta. I can’t!” The car slows to a stop. “We’re graduating, and I’m only eighteen. I don’t make enough money to take care of a baby, and I never will if I don’t go to college and-“ My hands are suddenly ripped from my eyes.

“Katniss! Breathe…” I listen and he starts rubbing my palms with my thumbs. “Stop with the ‘I can’t, I’m not’ bullshit. It’s not just you, it’s us. I’m not going to let you do this alone. You and I, we did this, we got here together.” His strong, calloused thumbs work out some of my stress, but it doesn’t make our problem go away. “Let’s go inside and get you some warm clothes.”

He takes my hand in his as we w alk up the steps to my house. Peeta’s always polite with Prim, saying hello, conversing with her. He’s one of the family, the now growing family… maybe.

While they talk about Prim’s witch of an Algebra teacher, I slip upstairs and peel off my wet, muddy clothes for a plain grey t-shirt and sweats. It’s perfect for how I feel, grey and dismal. Peeta knows where to find me, so I lie down on my bed watching the fan spin above me. I rest a shaky hand on my stomach, trying to wrap my head around the life inside me. There are the beginnings of a human life now dependent on me.

The panic comes back.  _I can’t do this, babies are expensive. I can’t do this, what about college?_  Then I take Peeta’s words to heart; he and I did this and we are responsible for it.  _We’re too young… What do we know about children?_

“We can’t do this…” I whisper before patting my stomach awkwardly, “I’m sorry…”

I know what I have to do, not just for me or Peeta, but for whatever is growing inside me. What kind of life can we really give it?

Peeta lies down in bed next to me, and I finally get a good whiff of his cologne. “You’re making me nauseous,” I complain, rolling into him. I need his warmth and his support.

“I’m sorry…” he says, squeezing me tight. “What are we going to do?”

“I…” I hesitate, as the next sentence out of my mouth will drastically change our lives. I have to be absolutely positive. “I want an abortion…” I finally say. “We’re not ready. It’s for the best… for all three of us.”

Peeta squeezes me again. “Okay…”

We lay there for hours, eventually falling asleep. Peeta doesn’t leave on Saturday or Sunday. He’s made it his mission to take care of me, even though we agreed not to talk about our predicament. It will be better if we can just move past it. I still, for the life of me, can’t figure out how this happened.

“Peeta?” I ask. These last few days have also sent Peeta and I into a confusing grey area of whether we’re together or not. We’ve been sleeping in each other’s arms, and he’s kissed me each time we’ve gone to sleep, and also upon waking up. I’ve found myself constantly seeking the safety of his arms and broad chest. I don’t, however, want him with me just because I’m somehow carrying his child, even if it’s going to end in a few days.

We’re now sitting on the couch, my knees over his legs. He holds me as close to him as possible, every so often stroking my cheek with his thumb and staring at my face like he wants to remember every freckle and scar. “Yeah?” he asks, going back to rub my face again. All this contact is surely going to make my face break out.

“Did the condom break? I mean… we used one. I don’t… I don’t understand how  _this_  happened.”

He goes very still for a second. “I… I didn’t use one.”

Every inch of me turns cold and clammy. I spasm away, ending up on the ground. I’m so glad that the house is empty. “You  _what_?!” I hiss.

“You snapped at me to get on with it, so I thought you meant-“

“To hurry the fuck up and put it on!” I pick myself off the ground. “Get out of my house, Peeta! You… Ugh!”

In this moment, I hate him with every fiber of my being. How could he? One simple thing, roll on a condom. How many times have we seen it done in health class?

I storm out of the room, but he follows me into the kitchen. “Katniss, please, I’m sorry. I never-“

“Oh… you’re sorry? I’m pregnant, Peeta! This isn’t like, ‘Oh, sorry I forgot to give you back your pen!’ There’s a human inside me!” I swing my arm, sending a vase full of tulips and a fruit bowl to the ground, and both shatter.

He’s at my side in an instant, ignoring my rage to make sure I’m not bleeding. “Peeta, just go. I don’t want to hate you.  _Just go_ ,” I beg.

“I’m not leaving you to deal with this, Katniss, ever.” When he says this, I think for a second that maybe we could raise a child. I quickly slap the thought away and the crack of my palm across Peeta’s face echoes through the kitchen.

I try to apologize but can’t find the words, so I run to my room and lock the door. Peeta doesn’t try to open it. I face plant on the bed, reaching for the first pillow I can find. It smells like his shampoo, and I want to throw it away, maybe even throw it into a fire. God, I hate him so much! How could he be so stupid!

I fall asleep and don’t wake up until sundown. Prim and Mom still aren’t home and I find that the mess in the kitchen has been cleaned up. I search the cabinets for my lifeline these last few days, a jar of crunchy peanut butter. Resting on top of it is a single tulip that appears to have been salvaged from the wreckage, delicate pink petals with yellow licking at the edges. In front is a white tulip, which represents forgiveness. The pink means caring, the yellow is hopeless love. I only know this because I got on Google while eating the entire jar in one sitting.

Peeta is going to be the one driving me to Planned Parenthood after school on Monday, but I strongly doubt that’s going to happen now. I scroll through contacts on my phone… who can I confide in?

I go to Johanna first. She’ll be pragmatic, understand how I can’t be emotional at a time like this, only practical.

“There she is… how’s the stomach bug?” she asks. Peeta and I were invited out last night, but we told our friends that I had a stomach bug and Peeta was being his usual self by caring for me.

“Complicated, are you free? Can you come over?”

“Are you going to get me sick?”

I rub my peanut butter filled stomach. “I don’t think you can catch what I have… Please?”

Johanna sighs. “Fine, I’ll be there in like ten minutes.”

“I’m in bed, so just let yourself in.”

Her ten minutes is more like fifteen. She has a long trail of hickeys going from just under her ear to her collar bone. “You look like death warmed over.”

“And you look like Kate Middleton on her wedding day. Ravishing as always,” I snap.

Johanna puts her hands up defensively. “Easy, easy, Katniss… PMSing?” she asks, flopping down on the space Peeta has been occupying as of late.

“I wish…” I mumble. I have never wished so hard for my period to come. “I need a really big favor from you.”

“Listen, sister, you already know you’re not my type.”

I nudge her with my foot. “Shut up, I know that. I need you to drive me somewhere.”

“Can’t you just get your pussy-whipped best friend to do it?”

“No, we had a fight,” I explain and she sighs. “A big one. I think we’re done, but I don’t want to talk about that. Can I swear you to secrecy? Like seriously, Johanna, you can’t even tell Enobaria.”

“What, are you pregnant or something?” she jokes. My face falls and she knows immediately. Johanna is one of the few people who can read me like a book. “Holy fuck, what? No,” she shakes her head, “Who?”

Tears are already prickling at my eyes. “Peeta…” I whisper. “It was prom night, we were drunk. I rushed him with the condom and he stupidly didn’t use one.”

“Doctor’s appointment?”

“Planned Parenthood… I have to get rid of it, Jo.”

Her lips form a thin line as she thinks. I don’t know if she’s morally against what I need to do, she just needs to drive me there. “I don’t need to go into the room with you, right? I don’t think I can sit there while they power wash your uterus.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to. I just need a ride there. The big show isn’t even tomorrow; it’s either Tuesday or Wednesday.”

Peeta and I don’t talk in any of our shared classes. We barely acknowledge each other’s existence until the final bell rings. “I want to go with you to your appointment,” he states. I look up at him while I stuff books in my backpack. “I put you in this position, I should be there for you.” I study his face for a few seconds and notice the fresh bruise peeking out just by his temple.

 _She hit him again…_  The thought sends me into a fit of tears and blind rage so when Peeta reaches out to comfort me, I jump away. “Don’t touch me…” I sob.

He reaches for me. “Katniss,” I can’t tell whether it’s just Peeta being himself or if he’s being protective of his baby-momma and spawn. He looks so defeated, so broken.

“I- Fine, you can come…” I’m still having Johanna drive me, because I need that buffer and escape plan. Needless to say, the car ride to Planned Parenthood is awkward.

When we arrive, the waiting room smells like latex gloves and rubbing alcohol. On top of my nerves, I’m running to the bathroom to heave every few minutes until I’m led into an examination room. I drag Peeta in with me; stupid mistake or not, he’s still my lifeline, my constant, and the glue that holds me together some days.

Everything changes inside that room.

They describe the procedure in gory details and by law have to show me at least what the baby looks like. It’s more like a blobby fish chicken than anything else. I start to wonder if given the chance what he will look like. Would he have my eyes? Peeta’s jaw? Would he have my dark hair or Peeta’s sandy blonde? Would he be calm and collected like Peeta or quick to anger like me?

I start to think that this little blob inside of me is part Peeta, a tiny little bit of him and me, pure and untouched. It doesn’t know the feeling of abandonment that I’ve grown accustomed to, or the utter betrayal of an abusive parent. My hands find my stomach and I think that just maybe we can right the wrongs done to us by the people who are supposed to be loving and caring.

The second that thought invades my mind, I know I can’t go through with it. I have to keep this baby and meet him or her. “I’m sorry…” I interrupt the doctor’s speech about what to expect after the procedure. “I can’t do this…” I say as I look to Peeta, “I have to meet him.”

Peeta looks oddly relieved. This is it, we’re going to be parents. He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “We can do this…” he says into my hair.

Johanna doesn’t believe my choice; hell, I can hardly believe it myself. She drops us off at my house, giving the two of us space to wrap our heads around the choice we just made. I ask Peeta over and over again if this is what he wants. He wraps his arms around me for the hundredth time, “It isn’t how I planned my life to turn out… but-“

“You’re going to college.” I tell him, as that was one mistake my father made. He never even attempted college of any kind.

I dig through my backpack for the keys to my house. Peeta is going to stay local anyway and help his family at the bakery, maybe I’ll eventually go to community college.

“Are we going to get married?” he asks.

I hadn’t even thought of that, but even still… no, thank you.

“No,” I tell him simply. It’s partly because I don’t want to deal with a messy divorce if things turns out bad. A baby is no reason to get married. “I can’t… Not after my Dad.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times as if he doesn’t know what he wants to say. “I won’t leave you two, Katniss. Never.”

I finally get the door open. “I know… I just,” I swallow hard, “We’ll take it day by day… okay?”

We lay sprawled out on the bed trying to educate ourselves on what we’re going to go through, as well as digest the decision we… well, I just made. “You want this, right?” I ask again, resting my hands on my stomach. “You’re not going to turn around in nine months and hate me?”

“I’m just worried that you’ll end up hating me.”

We quickly end up getting distracted and soon it’s like everything’s back to normal, before we had sex, before I got pregnant. I have to remind myself over and over again that this is real. I’m having a baby.

“How do we tell my Mom?” I ask. He’s being the responsible one, using my laptop to figure out just how much oopsie baby will cost us. I, on the other hand, decided I would be more useful curled up around his body with my stomach against his back. Every so often, he stops to run his hands through my hair.

He twirls a clump around his index finger, “We don’t have to tell her yet, but eventually you won’t be able to hide it.”

“She’s going to be so disappointed…” Tears well up in my eyes, “Like mother, like daughter.”

Peeta shifts and I uncurl my body so we can lay down facing each other. “Katniss, I can’t promise that someday we’ll be rich, or that we won’t ever struggle. If I did, I would be lying. We have an uphill battle against us, but what I can promise you is that he,” he pauses to place a hand on my stomach, “Or she will be loved by both of us, every day of his or her life. I’ll never leave you, no matter what.”

“You say that now…” I mumble before rolling away from him, my cheek hitting a wet spot from my tears. Peeta holds me until the tears go away. We develop a relaxing closeness over the next few weeks. I hide my symptoms from my mother and Prim as best I can and from what I can tell, Johanna hasn’t told a soul. That’s what I love about her, our business is our business. She’s not a gossip and wouldn’t shame anyone for anything unless they were really asking for it.

We make it through the month of May and fight through our senioritis, finally finishing high school on June 14th with graduation on the following day. As I empty out my locker, I press my cheek against the cool metal. “We have an appointment this afternoon, right?” Peeta asks. I just nod and pick at the leftover Grateful Dead sticker on my door. The multicolored bears have been mocking my bad decisions for as long as I can remember and have become increasingly judgmental in recent weeks. “Are you okay?” His hand rests on the small of my back, his thumb rubbing in a small circle. I’ve been having a lot of lower back pain recently, which my OB/GYN says is from my already growing uterus combined with my body readying itself for the load it’s about to carry. “Back pain?” I nod and smile weakly.

Peeta is really trying to be supportive, but there are just times when I need him to shut up and rub my back or even leave me the hell alone. He basically lives at my place now, due to his mother’s endless poking and prodding at our lives. I’m not allowed in their house any more while she’s at home either, not that I really want to be. That woman threw every insult in the book at me. When I could no longer take her periodic ‘like mother, like daughter’ digs under her breath, I insulted her parenting by saying I hoped Mr. Mellark raised his son to be a good man.

If she sees me in their house, she’s calling the police.

Peeta kisses my cheek. I still don’t know what we are but he gives me kisses, backrubs, and foot massages whenever I need them without asking. “We’re telling my Mom this weekend. I went for a dress fitting for my maid of honor dress and it was tight. I want to be the one to tell her, not have her figure it out.”

“Sure, I’ll be there every step of the way. It won’t be so bad…”

“Maybe we should start with our friends first. Who knows, they might even be excited? You know they’ve been rooting for us to get together since middle school.”

“Maybe if we had, things would’ve balanced out. Instead of what we have, we would have gotten four or six years together.”

I chuckle. “Together?” The hallway is empty, with people still in finals corralled in their rooms. Peeta and I are lucky; we had in-class finals for most of our classes, because the teacher wanted the day off as much as we did. “Is that what we are?”

“Is that what you want to be?”

I think for a second, Peeta’s phrase sticking in my head.  _Would it really be that bad?_  Instead of answering, I get on my toes and kiss his cheek.

That night, we all gather in my backyard. Gale is back from his own finals and brought a cooler full of leftover liquor which I couldn’t touch. I guess the plan is to get them drunk and then drop the bomb. “Katniss, want a drink?”

This is the fifth one I’ve refused tonight. “No, thanks, my stomach is feeling off.”

“You sure?” Finnick asks. “It’s your favorite, vodka and cranberry!”

I just shake my head and look up when Peeta’s fingers brush against the back of my neck. Anymore, I’ve been going between wanting to rip his head off or fuck him silly. It’s getting old, fast. “So, uh… guys, we have something to tell you.”

“And after six years of ‘will they or won’t they’, Katniss and Peeta finally got together,” Madge teases.

“Um, kind of…” I look at Johanna who just nods. “We’re having a baby in late December or early January.”

Everything is silent for a really long time before Finnick laughs nervously. “No, but really.”

I kick my purse out from under my chair and pull out an ultrasound picture they printed out from our appointment this afternoon. “Yeah, but really.”

They pass it around, not saying a word. I regret every second of telling them I’m pregnant. Gale looks the most upset, but it’s directed at Peeta, not me.

“How did this happen?” he asks in a flat voice.

I slouch. “It was prom…” I say as if that was enough.

“Have you ever heard of a fucking condom?”

“Gale!” I snap, feeling Peeta tense behind me. “It was my idea. I rushed things, I rushed all of it. He went to get one and I practically jumped on him. Fuck. Off.” I rub my stomach, which still flat to the untrained eye, though my shorts are already tight. I feel the strong urge to defend my child and its father. “I’m happy, Gale, well, all of you,” I look up at Peeta, “You?”

He leans from his spot behind me and kisses my cheek. “I wish we’d waited a few more years, but it’s only ever been you, Katniss…”

Finnick digs through his wallet and pulls out a twenty, “Twenty on it being a girl.”

Everyone puts money in. Johanna and Enobaria put fifty in together for it being a boy, Annie plunks down ten for boy, Gale and Madge give forty for girl, and even Peeta throws a ten in for girl as well.

It’s hot and sunny for graduation. The white dress that I’m wearing under my white gown actually fits, but I am uncomfortable throughout the entire thing. I hear Superintendent Snow call my name and rush on stage, shaking his hand and grabbing my fake diploma, thinking how lucky I am that I’ve made it this far.

Once we’re allowed to break from the line-up to find our families is when all hell breaks loose. I freeze just on the edge of the crowd as I watch Peeta’s mother make her way over to my mother. Peeta’s at my side in an instant. “Is it too late to play dead?” I ask, squeezing his hand.

I’m already dizzy and nauseous, plus the heat is making me want to vomit. “I was talking to my Dad about… us. She overheard… Katniss, I’m so sorry.”

My mother’s face falls for a fraction of a second before her disappointment is replaced with rage. Her eyes find mine. “Here goes nothing…” Peeta mumbles, helping me to where our mothers are discussing how disappointing I am or how I seduced Peeta to get on welfare. Or any of the other horrible things that cunt wants to say to my mom.

Before we get to where they are, Peeta leans in and speaks into my ear. “Remember that no matter what happens, it’ll be okay. I found us a place to live, just think about that.”

I hold onto that glimmer of hope as their voices start to rage. “Katniss!” my mother snaps, “Is this all true?”

“What? I don’t know what she’s telling you.”

Mrs. Mellark snorts, “Don’t play dumb. The little  _predicament_  you got my son into.”

My stomach is like a magnet, drawing my hands in. “He’s not a  _predicament!”_  I tell her, copying her insulting tone.

“He?” Mom asks, “Katniss, how far along are you?"

I look at Prim, my mother’s fiancé, and then back at her. People are staring and I just want to disappear. “Not very… about ten weeks…”

“Well, what are you going to do? What about Temple?”

“I want to raise him…” I say in a meek voice. I clear my throat. “I want to raise him,” I tell her in a stronger voice.

Peeta squeezes my hand to reassure me that he’s here, he’ll always be here. “ _We_  want to raise him or her.”

Mrs. Mellark gets in my face. “I hope you’re ashamed of yourself, talking my son into such a thing.”

Peeta shoves her back when I start gasping for breath, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. “And they aren’t even going to get married. A bastard raising a bastard!” she snaps.

Everything starts to get fuzzy. “Peeta…” I call out.

“Excuse me!” my mother gasps. “If you have a problem with how I am raising my daughter, say it to my face. Don’t attack an innocent child!”

I start stumbling backwards, but everyone’s too focused on their argument. “Peeta…” I cry as my legs start tingling. I reach out and grab onto his gown just as my legs give out and the world goes black.

When I come to, my mother, Prim, and Peeta are hovering as Mr. Mellark guides his wife away from me. I hear him say, ‘Not good for the baby.’

“There’s an ambulance on the way,” my mother tells me, stroking my hair. “Katniss… why didn’t you tell me?”

I try to sit up but Peeta pulls me back down so my head is resting in his lap. “Just relax, Katniss,” his voice waivers. He’s obviously afraid.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me…” I tell her, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry…”

“Katniss… where are you three going to live? How are you going to afford this baby?” my mother continues, never stopping her stroking of my hair.

The truth is, I don’t know. I’ve saved up a fair amount of money from my shitty receptionist job, but that will only get us so far…

“Katniss and I haven’t gotten to talk about this yet because we’ve been studying for finals, but since I’m going to school locally and Katniss really can’t go away in her condition, my Dad offered us the apartment above the bakery.”

I look up and smile. Even though my head still feels foggy, I’m filled with hope.

We can do this.

When I finally get to the hospital, they tell me I’m dehydrated and had a ‘heat related fainting episode’. They pump me full of liquids and tell me that both the baby and I are just fine. They recommend staying off my feet for a few days just to be sure and to come right back if it happens again.

Once I get home, I go straight to bed. Peeta texts to tell me he’s being kicked out and my mother says he can stay here. I’m already pregnant, what more damage can we do?

When my door opens I expect it to be Peeta, but instead it’s Prim. She climbs into bed with me and snuggles up close. “So I’m going to be an auntie?” she whispers as if it’s some big secret. Hell, the whole school knows by now.

“Yeah…” I hold her close to me. Prim and I used to be attached at the hip until we just kind of grew apart. I’ve missed this.

“If it’s a girl, you’ll name it after me… right?”

“No, that will get confusing around Christmas,” I tell her. She goes quiet for a few minutes.

The door opens again, the light from the hall shining in my face. Peeta looks so defeated, so sad.

I hate myself.

It’s hard to be warm and inviting to him when I’m stuck loathing both myself and the child inside me. Everything wrong in his life is my fault. I tell him I’m sorry every chance I get. His father is still talking to him, but his mother has all but disowned him.

Next thing I know, it’s July. They say by the measurement of the baby I’m just about fifteen weeks along and should be able to feel him or her move any week now. I’m jamming my fat ass and painful breasts into my bridesmaid’s dress. If it wasn’t for my  _condition_ , I would be able to go braless.

“Peeta?” I call, trying to zip up my dress. My white knight comes in, straightening out his tie. “Baby…” I whine, rubbing my stomach. We bought the dress a week ago, it’s the same coral color as my lipstick from prom. My friends were right, it does look great on my skin.

“Alright,” he kisses my exposed shoulder blade, “Suck it in.”

“I can’t…” I fake sob. The dress is tight against my breasts and hangs loose so it doesn’t matter how much weight I’ve put on or how much I would be showing at fifteen weeks. I’m currently in that grey area where my friends and family can tell, but strangers just think I have a potbelly. Peeta forces the zipper up and fastens the hook and eye clasp before kissing my shoulder blade again. The spot tingles and I want to ask for another.

I look at my reflection in the mirror, dark curls pinned up so I don’t overheat in the July sunshine. “Well, let me get a good look at you…” he tells me before spinning me around, my loose skirt spinning around me. “How did I get so lucky?”

I roll my eyes. “If this is your idea of luck… eighteen and having a baby… we need to have a talk. Also, you’re never going to Atlantic City or Vegas.”

He stops twirling me just when I’m facing him. “I mean, there are some things I couldn’t have predicted, but I still went to prom with the most beautiful woman in school, and I fall asleep and wake up next to her every day.”

“Yeah, but you could be so much more than a guy saddled with a kid.”

He squeezes my hand. “And now I’m going to be a father,” I realize that maybe Peeta isn’t the one this child will lose some day. Maybe I’ll be the one who runs. My mother did always say I had a lot of my father in me.

Peeta digs into his pocket. “I know even though I’ve promised that I’ll never leave you or the baby, you’re still scared, so I got you this… It’s not an engagement ring, but a promise.”

He opens the velvet box in his hand. It’s a small, delicate band of white gold with little flecks of diamonds and a single round pearl. It’s not a perfect circle, but a strip that wraps around my finger.

And I believe that he’ll be here for the baby… I’m just not sure if I can make that promise as well.

Prim and I walk our mother down the aisle since her father passed away a few years ago. I’m glad the dress hides my small bump. This is my mother’s day.

We stand by her side as they say their vows. Maybe this  _is_ something Peeta and I should do for the baby… wait, no. Mom went for years without a husband and Prim and I both turned out just fine. Maybe someday we’ll stand here, many years down the road.

Before long, Peeta and I are packing our clothes. All of the furniture in our new home is hand-me-down, but neither of us wants to complain because it’s free. “Babe, please sit down, I’ll do this,” Peeta offers. He’s been trying to get me off my feet for days. Apparently, my blood pressure is just high enough to raise red flags, but not so much so that I need to be put on bed rest.

“Fine… but I’ll fold and you pack…”

“Deal.”

The old tenants, who had to leave quickly, also left behind their furniture. Peeta says they were originally from the UK and had to go back permanently for a loved one. “Knock, knock,” someone says at the door just as Peeta tapes up the last box of clothes. “Alright, heifer. Time to move,” I’m amazed that our friends are up so early, and that Finnick is already awake enough to insult me.

When I finally worm my way out of bed, I try and pick up a box but Madge rushes to stop me. “You’re not supposed to be carrying heavy things. I’ve got this!”

“I’m pregnant, not handicapped. I can handle a little box…”

Mom, Geoffrey and Prim are already at the new place, cleaning and trying to make sure the move is as ‘stress free’ as possible. Honestly, I just want all of them to fuck off and stop babying us. The only one reacting as I would have expected is Mrs. Mellark, who still won’t talk to her youngest son.

It takes three cars to pack up everything Peeta and I own, and ten or so trips to bring it all in. I wouldn’t know for certain, though. I was told to take a seat and start putting shirts on hangers. Instead, I find myself running my hands along the rise of my stomach until I get sleepy from all the work I didn’t do.

I lay flat in my new home with my hands still on my stomach, surrounded by clothes. It’s the home Peeta and I will raise our child in. It needs some work, perhaps a new coat of paint, but it’s ours.

I’m almost asleep when I feel it; a short little pop too far forward to be gas or my stomach. “Baby?” I ask my stomach, “Was that you?” And like magic, the pop is there again, as if the child inside me knows I’m looking for a response.

My skin grows cold; it moved, my baby just moved. Suddenly, all of this becomes much more than a novel idea. I feel so stupid, this is real, all of this is real. “Peeta!” I cry as tears well up in my eyes. I attempt to curl up into a ball, but I’m too paralyzed by fear to move. By the time I admit to myself that all of my attempts are futile, he’s already on the bed with me.

“Katniss, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It moved!” I sob, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him in to protect me from the monster inside me.

The doctor says that my fear is natural, especially at my young age. He doesn’t see me panicking every night as the kicks grow stronger, or dropping the phone at work because I feel a slight flutter inside me. There isn’t anything I can take for this paralyzing fear. Instead, I just have to accept that every day my stomach grows and before I know it, the bump will be replaced by a baby.

It’s too late to back out now.

Peeta catches me sobbing in the shower one afternoon. “Go away!” I scream, “I’m disgusting! Go away! I’m a disgusting person! Don’t look at me!” It’s the end of July. I’m about twenty weeks along and with my small frame, I look huge. My breasts are larger and always hurt, I can’t even look at my backside without wondering where it came from, and don’t even get me started on my brand new second chin.

Peeta climbs in fully clothed, keeping the stream of water on my back. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve ruined your life…” I sob. He holds me until the tears go away.

He rocks back and forth, rubbing my bare back as he gets soaked. “You did not,” he sighs deeply, “I love you, Katniss, you and the baby. My entire existence revolves around you two, and making sure you’re both safe.”

His words don’t make me any feel better. “I’m scared…”

“I know…” he whispers, rocking me from side to side. “It’s natural.”

“But I’m not afraid of giving birth. I can’t wait to get her out of me.” We found out two days ago that our shy baby is most likely a girl. “I’m afraid of  _her._ ”

Peeta remains silent as I stumble out of the shower in shame. I hear the water turn off as I dry my body, gingerly wiping my pregnant belly before squeezing water out of my hair and re-braiding it, not really caring whether it's towel dried.

After dressing myself, I climb into bed. Peeta comes out in only his boxers, still not speaking to me. He takes clothes into the bathroom and after changing, picks up his wallet and keys and leaves without saying goodbye.

I stare at the wall for I don’t know how long, but it’s long enough for the baby to continue tormenting me. I don’t expect him to come back, but he does with one of my many weaknesses. “Come on… sit up,” he implores. I protest at first but… milkshake.

He sits down next to me, close enough that I can feel his warmth, but far enough that we aren’t touching. I curl my body into his, nuzzling my head into his neck. I keep sucking on the straw and close my eyes. Right now, my only goal is to take each day one step at a time.

Summer turns into fall basically overnight. I’m not ready to see everything shrivel and die, but it’s out of my control, unlike what Peeta and I are naming our child. Prim wants the baby named after her.

“Well, if you aren’t going to name her Primrose, you should name her something traditional like Mildred, Rosalie, or Ester…”

Peeta doesn’t have any late classes today, so he and I are closing the bakery as per our agreement with his father. Prim is occupying space. “Hmm…” I ponder, rubbing my stomach. The idea of being pregnant still basically brings me to my knees, but it’s very very slowly becoming easier. “Ester in the nester. I like it,” I tell her while scraping a table and removing the leftover dough from the wooden surface.

“Hey, Peeta?” I call loud enough that he can hear over the dishes. “What do you think about Ester? Prim just suggested it.”

“No!” she squeals, “No, no, no! That’s a grandma name! You weren’t supposed to like them!”

We don’t plan on keeping the name, but it sticks, much to Prim’s displeasure.

One night in late October, I’m busy painting the baby’s room with the special paint we had to pay out the ass for. It’s low fumes or no fumes; either way, the doctor and Mom said it was safe for me to use as long as I keep the window open. I’m up on a step stool barely paying attention to the roller in my hand when I feel something wet on my stomach. I look down and huff at the smear of green paint on my shirt and paint over it.

It happens more and more often, and by the time I’m finished, I don’t bother painting over the smudges. “How are you feeling?” Peeta asks when he checks up on me.

I take a quick inventory of what’s sore. “Well… my back is killing me and…” I turn around, “I’ve been painting with my stomach for the last hour or so.”

He comes up and tugs at my t-shirt, the threads already stretched thin from my stomach. “Can we lose this?” he asks. I know that for whatever reason Peeta is still sexually attracted to me. To be honest, I want him, too, but I’m a mess of concave angles turning convex and the speed bump that is our baby has made it next to impossible for me to deal with anything  _down there_.

But he still wants me. And I still want him. And what more trouble could we get in, since I’m already pregnant?

“Y-yes…” I tell him, my voice wavering. His fingertips trail along the rise of my stomach as our eyes lock on. The next obstacle is my breasts.

“Your stomach…”

My cheeks get hot as I cover my stomach with my arms, smearing the paint that has soaked through my shirt. “I’m sorry, but it’s green…” He grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s get you into the bath,” he says and drags me along, the smeared paint forgotten for now.

“Can you kiss me?” I ask as the bath fills. Peeta looks shocked as he screws the cap onto the bubble bath.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I slink back, a little embarrassed. “Can you… kiss me? You don’t anymore. We share a bed, but you won’t even touch me… do I disgust you?”

“No, never. Do you really think that?”

I shrug, “I just… we’re together… how are we supposed to make this work if we-“

He silences me with his lips. "Katniss, you’re gorgeous, and I love you. I just thought that you wanted your space and that we were-“

“Only together for the baby?” I say, and he nods.

I have nothing more to say. I just need to show him that I want to be with him, baby or no baby, and that he has my heart. “Come on, drop your pants, Mr. Mellark. We’re getting in the tub and you’re rubbing my back.”

It’s awkward at first being naked with him in a confined space. Instead of rubbing my back, he keeps his large hands on my stomach. “Has she been busy today?” I shake my head no and lean back, his scruffy chin brushing against my temple.

“Push in where your index and middle fingers are… that’s where her butt is.” He pulls his hand away instead. “No, no, it’s okay, you can poke. I think her head is somewhere near my liver, or in my hipbone.”

“Those are two very different spots.”

“Well, when you have squirming life inside you, you can’t really tell what’s a foot, what’s a butt and what’s a head.”

He wraps his arms around my chest, cupping my breasts. “Pregnancy is such a beautiful thing on the outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you should see the stretch marks on the underside of my stomach.”

“You should show me,” he whispers in my ear.

“We’re in the bath…”

He squeezes my breasts. “Well, the paint’s off your stomach. Why don’t you go show me?”

I scramble out of the bath, my foot slipping on the tile floor. “Easy there,” Peeta tells me while I’m drying off. “You’re carrying precious cargo.”

I prop my foot up on the toilet to dry off my legs and Peeta kneels in front of me. “Oh yeah…” he leans in and kisses the underside of my stomach. “Still perfect…”

I try to put my foot down, but he stops me. “Do you want to go to bed or-“ I stop when he starts kissing my thighs. Here’s good, I guess.

He sticks his index finger in his mouth. “I’m not going to poke her, am I?” he asks, circling his finger around my opening.

I shake my head no, biting my lip when I feel his finger inside me. Everything feels weird. Sure, I’ve explored my own body once or a hundred times, but when it’s someone else’s tongue doing the work, it changes the game completely.

I grip the counter to make sure I don’t fall on the ground as my legs turn to jell-o and my muscles tighten around his finger. God, it’s beautiful, an instant euphoria that is over all too quickly.

“Feeling better?” Peeta asks as I finish drying off. I can only nod stupidly, my mind still in a haze.

Peeta helps me into a t-shirt, then into our bed. “Where are you going?” I whine when he doesn’t get in with me.

“I was going to go finish painting.”

“We’ll do it in the morning,” I yawn, pulling the covers down on his side.

“I have class at nine, remember?”

I huff at him while he brushes my hair into my face. “Then go to sleep. I’ll do it while you’re at class.”

He kisses my nose. “I don’t want you up on that stool! What if you fall?”

“Your Dad or brothers will come running up the stairs like they did when I knocked that can off the counter last week.”

Peeta sighs. “Fine… just roll over. I want to be close to you, but Ester is in the way.”

I slowly roll to the other side and feel his chest up against my back. I laugh sleepily, “Ha… Ester in the nester…”

October comes and goes, as does November. We have a quiet Thanksgiving with my mother and step-father and before I know it, everyone’s back from their first semester at college.

Everyone has gone off to lead his or her lives while I’ve been sitting at home incubating a child. They watch as I heave myself out of the lazyboy and disappear into the kitchen, coming out with a single can of whipped cream.

“Lunch time,” Peeta groans as I fill my mouth up with cream.

“Ester is hungry,” I tell him, spraying a mouthful of cream.

“You are NOT calling her that. That’s borderline abuse,” Johanna tells me.

“Nah,” I wipe my lips clean. “It was to mess with my sister, now it just kind of stuck.” I go for another spray but Madge takes the can away. I think about cutting her, but my only weapon is a remote.

“Easy there, tiger,” Gale sighs, “Don’t need anyone losing an arm.”

Everyone is so awkward around me, like they don’t know how to handle what’s under my shirt. I heave myself out of the chair with my friends watching my every move, like I’m suddenly going to drop my calf right here on the floor.

It takes some effort to get to my bed, but the bed doesn’t judge my bad decisions, it doesn’t look at me funny as my stomach protrudes awkwardly and I become the size of a planet.

I pull the comforter over my head, I’m just tired. I’m uncomfortable, and I’m absolutely done for the day.

Peeta comes in a few minutes after I cocoon myself. “What’s going on, Katniss? Talk to me…”

“I’m a planet,” I whine first, “Our friends don’t know how to act around me, and I’m always uncomfortable…”

I only have about four weeks left. Christmas is coming and right after that will be our still unnamed baby. “Want me to ask them to leave?”

I shake my head, still under the blanket. “No, and you should go out with them. Don’t stay home just because of me…”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m being forced to be with you. We went over this before. If you tell me tomorrow you’re ready to get married, I’ll take you to sign the papers. I love you, Katniss. I love you and the baby. Stop all this bullshit.”

Anger bubbles up in my throat. “Please just leave me, Peeta… okay? Go out with our friends, be happy, be a normal college student. Don’t stay tied down because of me.”

I feel his hand rest on my hip. “Katniss, I already told you I’m not going to leave you, ever-“

“Because no man has ever spewed out that string of lies!” I hiss, finally bring the blanket down. I have no idea where the words or the complete hatred for this man is coming from. Every word coming out of my mouth burns like acid, but I don’t stop myself. “Why don’t you just spare me the lies and the bullshit? Get on with it and leave me before you can hurt two people!” I cry.

I guess that’s enough, because Peeta backs away and grabs his coat. I jump when he slams the door but hear a bunch of footsteps leaving our apartment. Finally alone, I thought I would be happy.

Instead, I curl up as best I can and cry until I pass out.

A sharp pain in my abdomen rips me from my sleep but it soon fades. I’m alone in bed when I wake up, but Peeta has been home. There is a bouquet of orangey-pink Gerbera daisies on my nightstand and a note.

_Katniss,_

_You and the baby are my everything, but I’ll give you your space. I’ll be downstairs for most of today if you want to talk, but I’m staying with my parents until you’re ready for me to come home._

_I love you both more than my own life,_

_Peeta_

I rub my stomach and force myself to the bathroom, feeling the familiar but still confusing false contractions. “Oh shut up,” I groan. They’ve been getting more and more painful. “I know she’s coming. Can’t she wait a few days for my life to get in order?”

I go into the kitchen and try to make myself breakfast, but I’m hit by another dull wave of pain no more than ten minutes after the last one. I start to panic and settle on toast for breakfast as I try to watch the news while tracking my contractions. An hour goes by and like clockwork, everything just hurts every ten to twelve minutes.

They seem to be getting stronger, sometimes landing me on my side as I cry out for a man I pushed away.

I go into survival mode, first putting on my shoes and grabbing my cell phone. By the time I pull on my coat, I have four minutes until another contraction hits.

As I waddle down the stairs it hits me - I’m in labor. I’m not due until January and she’s coming now. “Peeta!” I sob, pushing through the back door of the bakery. He smiles when he sees me but his face falls, probably because he’s seen how pathetic I look. “I’m scared…” is all I can muster before I’m in his arms.

“I know, baby… I know…”

“No, I-“ Another contraction hits me and I grip his arms. “I think it’s time.”

“But you still have almost five weeks left!” I want to hit him for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Peeta, just take me to the hospital; call the doctor and get me to the hospital.”

Peeta rushes for his keys as I wave to his brothers and father awkwardly. “Are you okay?” Mr. Mellark asks.

I shrug, “Just… going into labor and all.”

“Aren’t your legs going to be cold?” one of the boys asks I look down and cross my legs. All I managed to put on are a pair of snow boots and basketball shorts.

“Dressed in a hurry,” I grunt as Peeta rushes me out the door, already on the phone. After he tells the doctor I think I’m in labor and gets off the phone, the car is awkwardly silent.

“Peeta, she’s early, what if-“

“She’s going to be perfect. She just wanted to surprise you for Christmas.”

I reach over and grab his hand. “I’m sorry about last night, and the constant pushing you away, and pulling you back and…“ We pull into the hospital just as another contraction hits. I let out a choked sob. I should still have weeks to prepare for her. Sure, the nursery is done, but she isn’t ready. I’m not ready.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!” I sob, walking around in my hospital gown. They want me to sit down but when I did I started panicking, so I paced. My water wouldn’t break but apparently my cervix is ready. “Why can’t they just scoop her out of me?”

Peeta sighs. “Because that seems oddly in-humane. I mean, they’ll cut into you and pull her out, but they’re not going to just scoop her out of you like that thing on construction sites.”

“Maybe it will hurt less…” I tell him before climbing back into bed. Our parents and siblings get here in the early afternoon and I’m no farther along than when we started except for the enormous stress on me and the baby.

My mother brushes my hair and braids it while Prim rubs my hands, “Why is she coming now?” I ask quietly, “She’s not ready, why now?”

“Babies are full term at thirty six weeks technically. She’s just jumping the gun.”

“Well, she should put it back in the holster…”

More hours tick by and still nothing exciting except for my water breaking. When I tell the nurse I think I wet the bed, she just nods before pulling up the sheets. There’s something in the water and on the fetal heart monitor that makes the woman rush out of the room. Peeta’s been out of the room talking to our friends, trying to get them to calm down and not treat me like a side show exhibit when they come in. I look up at my mother, “What’s happening?” I ask.

When the doctor comes in with Peeta, he presents us with two options. If anything, my labor is slowing down but my water broke and there was meconium in it. The doctor says the fetus is under stress after twelve hours of unproductive labor. They can either give me drugs to speed up the process, or hop to it and give me the C-section.

They prep me for the surgery and have the one person allowed in the operating room with me, Peeta, don bright blue scrubs. He holds my hand the entire way, his gaze never leaving my face. “I’ll never leave you…” he tells me for the hundredth time. “Leaving you last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

It’s bright and cold in the OR and they put a blind up between my head and my stomach, “Can you feel this?” a disembodied voice asks from behind the curtain.

“What?” I want to sit up, but can’t. A few seconds later, I feel a strange pressure but little to no pain. “I know you won’t leave us,” he kisses my forehead after I tell him. “But I’m so scared… you could have a much better life if you just-“ Peeta’s up on his feet, his fingers still laced with mine. I realize the only noise in the room is the heart monitor, and it’s just long enough to fill me with the coldest fear I’ve ever felt. “Peeta!”

“Why isn’t she crying? Is she okay?” There’s a lot of movement and I try to sit up again, but can’t. Instead, I listen to every noise in the room, hoping for a cry.

Suddenly it’s there, filling the room, taking over every bit of sound until I can hear only her cries. “She’s here…” I wipe a few tears from my cheeks as a nurse hands Peeta a pink bundle. He sits back down to show her to me. “She does not look like an Ester…” He’s right. She has fat baby cheeks, dark skin, dark hair, and my coloring.

They take our daughter away to make sure she’s okay and to finish sewing me up. Once back in my original room, Peeta and I both start getting impatient. “How are you feeling?” he asks every few minutes. It started out as ‘sore’, ‘fine’, ‘cold’. Now it’s like, ‘they just scooped a watermelon out of me.’

Our friends trickle in a few minutes later. “So we missed the big show,” Finnick says nervously.

“It’s okay, Katniss talked through it.”

Johanna sighs, “Just like most of Social Studies…” I want to laugh but the movement hurts my stitches. Everyone seems to come in and out of the room before I see my baby again. I hate all this waiting.

Mrs. Mellark even congratulates us, which might be more shocking than my preterm labor.

Finally, she’s ours again and it’s just the three of us in the room after a nurse attempts to teach me how to breast feed. “She still doesn’t have a name...” I tell him.

Peeta pulls something out of his pocket and starts to fiddle with it while I inspect our daughter. Ten fingers, ten toes, nothing between the legs. She has her father’s ears, my nose and chin and dark as the night eyes, “What is that?” I ask.

He opens his palm to reveal the shell I gave him the morning after we created our baby. The beautiful coral of my lipstick, my dress at my mother’s wedding, the flowers he brought for me this morning, “Cora?” I ask. It feels too short, like a nickname.

“Coraline?”

I look down at the baby, who is sated from whatever she could suckle from me. The doctor says she’s healthy - early, but healthy. “Are you a Coraline?” I ask.

The name sticks. The next morning, Peeta and I sign for her birth certificate. Coraline Primrose Mellark, born December 15th, 2012, at 9:33pm.

When we told her the middle name, Prim squealed so loud the baby cried.

I’m released from the hospital three days after giving birth with my baby bundled in my arms. Every bump in the road hurts and I curse Peeta a few times for the crimes PENNDOT has committed with these roads.

The second we’re inside, the grandparents try and take over. I’m practically forced back into bed to sleep next to my boyfriend because of my pain and stitches. I’m only used as an occasional source of food.

When they finally back off, Peeta and I find ourselves in bed with Coraline in her father’s arms. “I didn’t know I could love something this quickly…” he whispers, trying not to wake her. “But I would do anything for her…”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I know what you mean,” I kiss her head before kissing Peeta’s cheek. “Thank you…” I tell him.

“For what?”

“Her…” I hardly sleep, spending more time trying to figure out what has spit-up on it and what doesn’t than almost anything else.

Peeta looks down at me and smiles. “I love you…” I finally tell him. It’s well overdue, but I know I mean it. “And her, and our family… this isn’t how I planned things, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

\--

_Epilogue_

As I watch my husband dance with our daughter standing on his feet to keep up, I knew five years ago I made the right choice.

“What are you thinking about?” my mother asks, putting her arm around me, though my veil gets caught and tugs at my bun.

I see Cora wrap her arms around Peeta’s waist and rest her head on his mid-section. “That I made the right choice,” I tell her. Peeta and I haven’t even had our first dance as husband and wife yet. Cora just wanted to dance with Daddy the second the music started playing. I’m not about to say my life is perfect. There are some times I wish Peeta and I had waited to have a baby. I wish we had at least started dating before having Coraline. All I can say now is that my uphill climb is starting to plateau. Peeta graduated college with a degree in computer science. It seemed like an odd fit for him at first and the days get long writing computer code, but the money’s good. When I was comfortable enough, I started leaving Cora with either my mother or Peeta’s mother, who adores her granddaughter despite our rocky relationship. I studied for two years to learn how to be a social worker. For the most part, it’s only child abuse cases that make me rush home at five o’clock to hold my baby girl, who’s getting much too big to be cradled. We still live above the bakery but are saving up for a house, someday soon, we hope.

The song ends and Cora comes running for me. “Mama!” I get down to her level and wrap my arms around her.

“Hey, bunny… having fun?”

She’s already distracted. “You’re like a princess, Mommy! And Daddy is your prince!”

I kiss her forehead. “Only for today. Tomorrow, I go back to being your Mommy. Now come on, Uncle Gale and Uncle Finnick have been waiting to embarrass your Dad and I for years.”

“Are you going to tell everyone your secret?” I look up at Peeta, who just nods.

I kiss her forehead a gain. “Yep, and you’ve done an amazing job at keeping it.”

We sit back down at our table. Cora absolutely refuses to sit in her own chair, so she alternates between Peeta’s lap and mine. Before the embarrassing toasts and speeches start, I stand up and tap my champagne glass with my knife. “Everyone, can I please have your attention before my cousin embarrasses my husband and I?”

It takes a few seconds for our guests to get quiet; maybe an open bar wasn’t the  _best_  idea.

“Actually, I think Coraline should speak,” Peeta suggests as she looks up at me with her big doe eyes.

“It’s okay, Bunny… what’s the big secret?”

“I’m going to be a big sister!” she screams in that excited, high pitched child voice that could only belong to  _my_  daughter. This derails everything, and instead of everyone trying to shame us, we get congratulations. That is, until Finnick stands up.

“Alright, everyone, you know the drill. We’ll be starting a pot for whether it’s a boy or girl in the back after Gale and I find a piece of paper.” I sit back down and sip on some water. Their last pot went straight to Peeta and I as a baby gift. Back then, we really needed it. Our parents made it their mission to feed us, but Cora’s hungry belly was on our shoulders. When my milk just wasn’t enough, we had to supplement with formula. It was a small pile of money, but it certainly helped.

“Some things never change…” Peeta sighs as I fiddle with my necklace, which holds the promise ring he gave me when we were eighteen, right before my mother’s wedding back when I was so afraid that he would leave me with our child. I never imagined that barely four years later, we would actually be  _trying_  to track my ovulation and making sure we have sex as much as possible on those days. I never imagined that I would be propping my legs against the wall with pillows under my backside, hoping this would be the month that we would make our second child.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, kissing my wedding and engagement rings.

“How happy I am, how perfect everything is, how much I love you…  And how much I could go for a milkshake right about now.”

He pulls me in for a kiss and Cora sighs from her seat on her lap. “Ewww…”

Cora joins us halfway through our first dance. When she runs to us, Peeta scoops her up and sits her on his waist. She’s getting a little too big for this, though. I rest my hand on her back and take Peeta’s free hand. The three of us sway lazily to  _Just a Kiss_  by Lady Antebellum.

I lean in and rest my head on my husband’s chest.

My life isn’t perfect, in fact, it’s far from it. Peeta and I argue about silly things some days, and Coraline acts like a brat on others. Some days work becomes so stressful that I find myself soaking in the tub, listening to old Metallica.   But this is my life, it is defined by the one choice I made at eighteen to keep the baby my future husband and I made the night of our senior prom. I made a choice many women can’t and shouldn’t.

Peeta kisses the top of my head as the music ends. Tonight, we leave our daughter for the first time since having her. It’s time for a week of just being lazy on a cruise ship before coming back to the chaotic, imperfect life that neither of us would change for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> And in the immortal words of Sweet Dee Renyolds...
> 
> "Hey Dick hole, we're trying to spread the Christmas spirit"
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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